


Angel By The Wings: A Johnlock Fanfic

by TheVirginViolinist



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anger, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Asexual Sherlock, Character Death, Death, Fights, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Heavy Angst, Hurt Sherlock, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pain, Possible Character Death, Sad Sherlock, Sad and Beautiful, Self-Sacrifice, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Shooting Guns, Sick Sherlock, Terminal Illnesses, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVirginViolinist/pseuds/TheVirginViolinist
Summary: Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfelt - heart wrenching fanfic





	1. Unsure and Unstable

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm new to this site, but I've been writing since I was fifteen. So anyway, I read 'Alone On The Water' and absolutely loved it. I cried and whatnot , then I got inspired to do a fanfic where Sherlock gets sick. So I hope you enjoy this and leave a comment down below to let me know what you thought about it!

(Intro)

Though my heart may be in pieces  
My eyes are still set on you  
And though I can't keep it together  
I know that you'd want me to

Oh, I'm swimming in the grief  
And there's no anchor that could hold me down  
I don't want any relief  
Cause I don't wanna let you go right now  
Oh your moments were a charity  
They gave me more than I could lose  
Oh I know you found the promise land  
But I'm still here and I'm missing you  
When the day comes  
And the fire is out  
I wanna know that  
I gave you my everything

-We Don't Get To Be Here Long 

____________________________________________

I jolt awake, hands gripping me, forcing me backwards, til I'm lying on my back.

"Ah!"

"Sherlock.. It's okay.."

I breathe, but it's hitched- painful... It hurts. Well of course it does..

"Mm.. g-god."

"Shhh..."

I've spent years trying to divorce myself from feeling- striving to bury away whatever traces of human emotions I could find, only to now find my body betraying me.

Under me I can feel the cold wet sheets, clinging to my back like a caustic disease- so fragile- so close- must every minute be so reminding 

And given my condition, I don't have very long, however.., it all seems like deja vu.

Me sweating, and shuddering - in constant pain - just like in the nights I'd lie alone - shooting up to forget my wretched existence.

"Sherlock.. I'm here. Don't worry. I've got you, mate."

It's John. Of course it's him. It's always him. Why wouldn't it be? He never leaves my side.. even when I demand he do. 

I know I'm a hassle. I know he struggles - managing to take care of me, Rosie, bills, medical expenses - it's not easy. Never is.

"Sherlock.. breathe."

Breathing in, I make an effort to see, although, my vision is blurry, I am still able to make out some detail of the face hovering over me.

"J-john..." I breathe, though it hurts, "I'mm.. ff-fine."

"Er.. nice try. Lie still. I'm upping your dosage."

There he goes again, panicking - rushing to the rescue. I know this may appear cruel, but his excessive effort to make my situation convenient, makes me irritable. I'm dying. Not stupid. I know when he's afraid. I always know.

"J-john.. really..." I say, attempting to sit in bed, but failing, "Jesus..." I sigh harshly, agitated by the discomforting pain growing in my chest, "J-john.. I d-don't nn-need it. I'm f-fine."

He glares back at me, deliberately ignoring my wishes and upping my morphine dosage anyway. I grumble weakly, relieved, sinking further into bed. "God..." I swallow. "Doesn't it get boring?"

He blinks, and scoffs, playing dumb. "Well.. it depends on what you're referring to."

My eyes roll instinctively. "the excessive effort you put into making this..." I gesture to my words, "convenient."

John was now peering at me, his eyes blazing with denial, and his face burning with resentment.

He is upset? Obviously, and will most likely pretend to not be, like usual...

"You say it as if it's a bad thing."

I frown, bitter and prideful, "caring is not an advantage, John."

John stares blankly, not saying so much as the slightest word. I've clearly crossed the line - he scoffs, his face baring a bitter expression. "Good night, Sherlock."

He turns out the lights, leaving me to wrestle through my own restless thoughts. It's hopeless. He knows it.. I know it. Everyone knows it.

And yet it's so lucid- almost unreal- like a dream of some sort that I can not wake up from.

I gasp slightly at the others sudden touch, he's sitting right beside me, his hand in mine, and his head resting gently on the edge of the bed.

He's so peaceful when he sleeps, almost as if he's somehow detaching from reality, and gradually drifting away into a realm of calmness.

And now my eyes gaze up to the ceiling, wondering - thinking about what things might've been like if I had never gotten sick.

How John would've been, if this reality had not happened. But it did. And still, In spite of all of it, John still remains unwavering - forebearing my childish tantrums, because he understands what I'm going through.

Everyday I live it. No tears - no caring. I have to detach completely from emotion - I have to turn off my desire to live.. and become careless.

Which should be an easy task - judging by my past, I've practically built up a tolerance for it.

Nonetheless, nothing I do, or any one for that matter, wil make any difference. I'll still be here - sick. Weak. Dying.

Human...

Thus comes the misfortune of being one. Sentiment. Love. Fear. All chemical defects.

Yet in comparison, I lack in all - a mere brain and appendix. I have to process and let go. Deliver  
Not show. This is my tactic -what I know - what I've learned..

...what I've become.

 

To be continued...

____________________________________________


	2. One Last Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfelt - heart wrenching fanfic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Let me know in comments section below! ^^

Morning rears its face - sun now basking through the Windows. I'm sitting in bed, tray beside me, cup of freshly brewed steaming tea. For once I'm comfortable.

Files everywhere, all over, the beds practically covered in them. And john sits quietly beside me, helping me sort through them all.

Patient. Calm. Strong . Even when most opportune not to.

Each moment counted as a privilege - he embraces them all, never taking a second for granted.

He's a fighter, yet most all.. a friend. And to know he'll have to travel the rest of road alone, unsettles me. But it is, what it is. At least with one last case, I can teach him how to.

"John..." I breathe, "um... Listen... I.. em.. " I slouch, before inhaling deeply. "John..." I look to him, this time prepared to tell him. "I want to do one last case." 

John's face tightens. He's definitely tensed. I suppose he's stunned, or perhaps, just Increduled.

He scoffs. "Oh, yea. Do ya?"

I set down my cup of tea. "Lestrade called, said he had something that might just be worth my time..."

He blinks, nodding vigorously. "Oh, I see." He crosses his arms. "He's coming over?"

I feign a smirk. "Obviously."

He drums his fingers on his knee, his expression tense and impassive . Wistful. Haunted.

"Uh.. so.. your birthday is coming up soon." He whisks up a smile, "Anything in particular that you'd like to do for it?"

My nose crinkles. "Uhh.. No."

Seeming careless may seem cruel, but ultimately it will spare me, as well him, the trouble of not being.

His brows scowl. "And your reason?"

"Well, Isn't it obvious?" 

"I don't know. Is it?"

"Yes!" I snarl. "I'm surprised I've managed all this time without driving a knife through my skull." My lungs release a resentful chuckle. "Human tendencies..." my lips twist into a resentful sneer. "The salt on the wound. The worm in the fruit!"

Hands calm me. "Whoa.. Take it easy, Spock."

I breathe. "My apologies, John. I inhale deeply, "I suppose I'm just... bored of breathing."

"You know, Sherlock..." He licks his lips; something he normally does when he's interested, or worried, "...not everything has to be clever to be exciting."

Subtle hint. Indirect persuasion. he abhors my inability to be grateful - he wishes I'd care more - yet is secretly envious of my lack of emotion.

However, I won't say he wishes to stop caring - no. He cherishes the opportunity to feel - to show me that even if I don't care, he will. He's practically my portable heart - ready to kick in at anytime necessary.

"Perhaps you're right, John." I feign a smile, making sure he doesn't notice that I am deducing him. 

He doesn't like it when I do.

"However, that doesn't matter, as of now, all that does is the case." My eyes narrow just a bit. "though I'm not implying we'll take it."

"But then you're also not implying that we won't." He adds, voice bitter and incredulous. "Look." He frowns. "I get it. Okay. You're bored. Ya miss the action. I have no problem with that. All I'm asking is that you take a bit easy while your out there."

I part my lips, readying to explain my true intentions for taking the case, but a sudden knock disrupts me. I blink, feeling rather guilty. "Would you mind?"

Immediately he straightens his posture. Now tall and erected - steeled for whatever may come. He's ready. "I'll get the door."

As he sails off I lean backwards, closing my eyes - now flat on my back. Observing. Thinking. Something that I won't be able to do for very long. Which is why I must teach John all I know.

"Sherlock."

My eyes fling open to Lestrade waltzing towards me, and John standing beside him displaying a timid smirk. "How's the world's famous detective?"

I scoff. "Definitely not wearing the hat."

"Well, you will be soon." Lestrade reaches into his coat, then pulls out a folder. "Here." He tosses it to me. "James Thomas Harbor, 32, British agent, committed suicide yesterday. Hurled himself out of a hotels window."

A spark of excitement ignites inside me. This is just the case I need. It'll serve as a distraction, and as an opportunity for learning. "Well.. clearly there's more to the case..." I cast a sly smirk, "or else you wouldn't have contacted me."

Lestrade cocks his head. "Well.. as of yesterday, a girl who had witnessed the fall claim the man was already dead before he hit the ground."

"So you think it's an homicide?" John inserts rather spontaneously.

"That's what it looks like." Lestrade gives me a wide feigned smile. "Wanna give it a shoot?"

"it seems like a challenge to me." John inserts yet again. He's eager. A little too eager. "But, than again, I'm not him..so.."

"Hmm..." I steeple my fingers under my nose. Now in deep thought. I've got no other options. I might as well take it. "I guess we can look into it. See what we can find."

"Good." Lestrade nods, giving me a timid smile. "You start at the crime scene." he stands up, straightening his coat. "Then once ya boys are done there, you can drop by morgue."

I feign a smile. "Of course."

Lestrade eyes snap back to life. "Yeah." He reaches a hand to me, and I shake it. "Take care, Sherlock."

I give a cocky wink, and a confident smile. "I'll try."

Lestrade scoffs, breaking the handshake. "yeah. You'd better." He chuckles, before finally leaving.

After Lestrade left, John and I jumped right onto the case. We exchanged theories, argued about the solar system; which of course had nothing to do with case, and even shared a few good laughs while we were at it. It was simply perfect. I cherished it.. and I believe.. he did too.

 

To be continued...


	3. Happy Last Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Let me know in the comment section below! ^^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfelt - heart wrenching fanfic.

Jubilant cheers snatch me back to reality, Mrs Hudson giggling, birthday horns, and a cake held up to my face.

I smile, then blow, before feeling lips press to my cheek. Molly's. Obviously. She holds out a gift to me.

"Happy Birthday, Sherlock." She giggles shyly. Her eyes full of admiration, and gratefulness. "Um..aha.. it's all I could afford, but I figured you'd like it. So..."

With a delicate motion I take her gift. Smiling. Barely pulling myself together, it's a struggle.

her sweaty fingers gently grazing mine upon the exchange. They're sweaty. Obvious signs of nervousness. She worried. Hmm.. They all are. Human sentiment at it's finest.

A machine amongst humans. Fortunate enough to find forgiveness, despite all that it has done, and will do.

I am that fortunate machine. Rusted. Dysfunctional. Undeserving of all care, and affection, only to be still graced with it ultimately.

I've discovered with happiness comes the misfortune of caring.. how can I care for something of such mockery?

And John... he just stands close, watching, eyes clean of any genuine emotion. Stoic. Yet still he bares a smile. However, it's forced. A front to hide his mental war.

Of course. He's at war- in a silent battle. He's wounded. though no one but me knows it. His eyes lighten upon seeing me, and his smile becomes more genuine.

At least he's smiling at all. I can afford to smile more.. but unfortunately, I am not given much reason to. "Thank you, Molly. It's lovely."

Molly expels a refreshing breath, before Lestrade comes popping up from behind her, reaching out a gift. "Happy birthday, you idiot."

I laugh involuntarily, then take it, before examining it closely. "Is it morphine?"

It grows silent, only for a brief few seconds, before everyone starts to resume their original behavior.

"I'm sorry." I breathe, laying down my pride, just this once.. just because people like it. And John thinks it makes me seem more.. human, "What I meant to say was..." I feign a grin,"thank you."

"Aw, just open the bloody gift, already!" Lestrade presses me, laughing, wrapping an arm around Molly's shoulder. "Trust me.. you're gonna love it."

"Ooo.. Now I'm excited." I conjure up a toothy grin.

It's artificial. Quick. Efficient. Just like my deductions. Some call it magic - I call it a profession.

"Oh, than you better relieve yourself already. Hehe."

The room goes silent. Molly's now anxious. She knows her mistake.. but is slow to correct it.

"Molly..." my lips move, before I am even able to catch them, "Stop staring, you look like a corpse."

Stares cast onto me, jaws slacked, and eyes narrowed. Dear God. I swallow, her smile falling quicker then the words left my mouth.

And now she's staring, packing on the pressure, making it even more difficult for my barbaric mind to register any type of human emotion.

I know I've messed up. The bleeding silence, the expression locked in her eyes. She's going to make me eat my words, I can feel it.

"Maybe I'm staring because I can't bear the fact of knowing you'll be one soon!"

Deduction confirmed.

She storms out, sobbing, leaving me to swallow my own words. They're bitter.. and cold.

I swallow, now left with nothing but pitying stares, and scornful silence. I am disquieted.

They have words to say, yet there tongues are bolted down with pity. Now assuming John has already pre-instructed them on what to do and what not to, they'll most likely just remain quiet.. And go on as if nothing ever happened.

"Who wants cake?" Mrs Hudson offers, holding out my birthday cake, trying to liven back up the party. "C'mon! grab a slice everybody!"

"Wonderful." I roll my eyes, glancing away, wishing the party was over, instead of just beginning.

The party goes on for three long agonizing hours, before finally ending with John ushering them out politely.

He was unnervingly silent afterwards, seeming to be operating on emergency mode. His narvina. Comprised.

Its crazy how one can spend nearly their entire life alone, but when they finally get a taste of not being, they will do anything to never ever have to be again.

I still remember the day we met. Me leaning over a lab table, experimenting on god knows what, and him subtlety walking into the picture.

..out of everything I've regretted, I've never regretted meeting him. A study in pink, was it. Hmpf.. Or at least that's what he called it in his blog.

The blog that made me famous, and required me to be more human, and less machine.

The heart and the brain. Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson - we were on. Case after case. Lost in the moment.. Foolish enough to do anything.

John Watson. The man that turned the machine.. Human.

The man who now occupies a part of my heart that can never die. Even if this illness is to take it.

The vast files of data. In each folder I see him - memories stored in every crack and crevice of my palace walls. Endless. Vast. Unimaginable data.

John Watson is not just a reason for me to live, but a reason for me to breathe. Breathing is not boring.. Not having a reason to is.


	4. Pity Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfelt - heart wrenching fanfic

The sound of bustling streets, and a rumbling engine, rip me back to awareness. My mind. Stoic. Vigilant. John beside me - utterly quiet - too quiet. I have to break the silence...

"John..." I say, directing my full attention to him, "we can grab dinner tonight. I know a nice little restaurant just outside of London." I wrap my scarf around my neck - I'm starting to feel a slight chill. "I'm sure you'll love it."

He forces a smile, but it's wry. "Yea. Sure. Sounds good." He looks out from the cab, through the window; I presume to avoid being deduced.

I should tell him. Tell him why I really took this case. But no. Now is too soon. Bloody hell, I'm gonna do it.

"John, I um..." I say, voice trailing off like a fading brain wave. He looks to me. I'm unnerved. "I.. um.. I just wanted to say..." 

My God. It's harder than I thought. I don't want to spoil the moment. He may find my reason 'unsettling'

He blinks owlishly, drawing down his brows. "Yes.. I'm listening?"

C'mon! You're a machine. Pull it together! Tell him!

"John I.. I just wanted to thank you." My cheeks fluster with warmness. I can't do it. I clear my throat, now looking out from the window. I've got to focus. Caring is not an advantage. "I know... Probably not the best 'thank you' you've ever gotten; but.. still, nonetheless, an honest one."

All of a sudden a faint gleam conceives in his eyes - one of admiration and awe. God. I should tell him.

I open my mouth, but before I can get the words out, John disrupts me. "You're welcome, Sherlock." 

Just as quick as my mouth open, it shut. As depressing as it may be, I can't bring myself to snatch away that tender smile from his face, by reminding him of how little time we have left. I hate having to... fff-feel.. but unfortunately.. I can't seem to help it.. when it comes to him. "Really, John. There's no need to thank."

He gave a warm smile, before looking back out from the window. I'm oddly satisfied. "I'm guessing that took a lot of effort."

We chuckle for a bit, but don't bother facing each other.

"Is it that obvious?"

John wags his head, chuckling. "God. You're a case. You know that."

The cab stops. "Speaking of cases. Where here!" I pounce out of the cab, before it barely even stops moving. "John, hurry!" I fish into my pocket, I'm short of change, so I pay the cabbie more what I have. I spike my collar, swaggering off towards the crime scene. "Come, John. The game is afoot."

"Yea. Isn't it always, with you?"

Indirect reference to my excessive obsession with being distracted. He's noticed, however, there is no time to argue.

"An indirect message? Lovely."

He scoffs, following me closely, "is it?"

"Of course. It tells me you care." I give a confident smile. "Just don't too much. I need your brain as focused as possible. Seeing you'll be learning quite a lot today." 

"Learning?"

"Yes! Why else would we be here?"

Objective complete.

We arrive on the scene, my nystagmic eyes miss nothing - glancing from side to side - eyes sharp and narrowed. 

"Sherlock."

Ah! Anderson. He still looks.. somewhat functioning.

"Anderson."

He grimaces at the sight of me. "What are 'you' doing here?" He squawks, assuming a wide wide stance. "I thought you were no longer taking cases."

I snort, then frown. "I don't know what appalls me the most; the fact that you actually thought I'd give up my work, or the fact that a thought actually crossed your mind at all?"

He snarls. "Wait.. did you just insult me?"

"Insulting you, Anderson, would be'self mockery'."

"What does that even mean?"

"Anderson, don't try to figure it out. You'll only confuse yourself more."

I push pass him, swaggering through, John accompanying me, as we advance further into the crime scene. We stop.

"Sherlock." It's Donavon. And she appears to be holding something.

"Donavon."

Our eyes meet for a brief moment, stare so intense you can feel it. I presume she's fighting the urge to either give me trouble, or to give me something. I choose the latter.

But I am surprised to find I am wrong - Her hand suddenly reaching out a small box to me. I marvel.

"I-I bought this, and I don't really like it, so..." she pauses, hesitating, "here." She practically crams it into my hand. "Now at least someone will get some use outta the bloody thing."

In a matter of moments my heart skips, my cheeks pale, and my face goes cold. I'm appalled. Inferior. Pitied.

"A pity party." I snarl. "What's next, life on mars?" I give an unrelenting stare, pushing the gift back to her. "Look, I don't need your pity, Donavon." I snort. "Was me not inviting you to my party not obvious enough."

"Sher..."

I raise a hand. "John. Not now."

John stands beside me, jaw clinched and eyes blazing wide. He thinks I'm angry with him. "And for god sakes! Anderson! Get acting lessons!"

"Acting Lessons!?" Anderson Squawks.

"Yes!" I gesture to my words, spreading my arms wide out. "All of you!"

Just like that the room goes dead silent - everyone's eye, now on me. I can feel their stares. Deep. Pitiful. Faces. All directed towards me. I'm dismantled.

I have to recollect myself. If I'm to complete my objective. I must stop caring. I must. "John." I spike my collar. "Come. We'll take the lift."


	5. Simple Details Of Importance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basic Summary- (Edited)
> 
> Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfelt - heart wrenching fanfic

My foot taps a staccato rhythm beneath me. Thoughts inexpressible. Pent-up. Repressed. I'm withdrawn.

However, I remain calm, despite the unnerving knot twisting in my stomach, and the ear gnawing sound of silence.

John's quiet. Too quiet. He believes he's made a mistake, and that I'm angry with him. I glance at him - my stare fastidious and stern. He notices.

Great. Now he's looking away, ignoring the obvious tension - It's thick. Heavy. Deeply embedded. I breathe. "John..." I say dully, before breathing out heavily, "problem?"

His feet shuffle slightly, almost as if he's anxious or worried. I'm assuming both. "John."

"Sorry." He finally speaks, "yes?"

I frown. "Are you okay?"

He feigns a smile, and nods. "Yes. Of course, I am. I'm okay. Haha. Why wouldn't I be?"

He's lying. I can tell. I can always tell. I unbutton my coat. "I'm hoping that was rhetorical."

"What?"

"John..." I roll my eyes, and sigh, before spiking my collar. It helps. "you're worried." I scoff lazily. "always like you to be, anyway. I'm guessing it's the doctor in you? Hmm? Or possibly even coping? Just wretched, isn't it?" John's face hardens, and his cheeks flush. And now I'm feeling the odd need to say sorry. But before I can he speaks.

"No.. it isn't. It's called being grateful, Sherlock. Maybe you can learn to be sometimes. Hmm?"

His words were sharp. They hit, and stuck. John is right. I am ungrateful.. but I can't help it.

I swallow. "Uhm..." I prepare to say sorry. It's always hard to do, but for John I'd do almost anything. "... Listen ... John, I'm.. " I begin to say, but the lift opens and disrupts me. I've lost my confidence. I look away. "we should.. um.. get to work. Hmm?"

John simply nods, and follows.

After exiting the lift, I and John headed up to the hotel room; where Mr Harbor was reported to had suffered his 'nasty' fall.

Once inside we took to our investigation; John searching through the bedroom, and I, the living room.

During my sweep of the area, I am caught away by a peculiar sighting; shoe prints, on the floor, starting at the window nearest to me, and ending at the window that Mr Harbor had mysteriously tumbled out of.

I halt, and my eyes squint. "Interesting." I smirk, bending down near it. "John!" I call, pulling out my pocket magnifier.

He's a stubborn one.

I grimace, then begin examining the shoe prints. "Size 12 feet, slim, but ... Tall." Something tells me these were not made by Mr Harbor. I need John's second opinion, but unfortunately, he's angry with me, so he won't come without incentive. I give a dramatic gasp. "Oh god! John! Living room! It's urgent!"

John comes barging into the room, his breath a bit hitched. "Sher.. Sherlock? what's happened?"

There he is. Knew it'd work.

I shift. "Oh, there you are." I arch a sly brow, reaching out my pocket magnifier to him. He has to learn my techniques, if he's ever to take my place when I am gone. "I need a second opinion!" 

he strides over to me. "God. really Sherlock, can you not do that. Please?" He exclaims, stooping down beside me. He looks to where I am looking. "Seriously. Just what exactly are we looking at."

"Shoe prints." I reply, glancing over the shoe prints one last time. My lips twist into a menacing smile. "The killer's shoe prints."

"Killer's?"

"Obviously." I scoff, then give a mirthless laugh. "Mr Harbor was murdered." 

"So.. it wasn't a suicide?"

"Almost never is. The shoe prints. Do you see? They're position. The killer was here. He hid behind the curtain, waited for Mr Harbor to face the window, and then struck." "And judging from what Lestrade has told us, Mr Harbor was dead prior to his fall.

John scoffs. "Really?"

"Of course." I clasp my arms neatly behind me, and begin pacing the polished floor beneath me. "Now, John. Your turn." 

Time to test his observation skills. I must know how sharp his mind is - see if he's been listening and observing my method's correctly.

He exclaims. "Okay. Okay."

"What do you make of it?"

"There is shoe prints leading from this window, to the other...?"

"Precisely! So that means?"

"Er... he didn't come in through the door?"

"Oooo... John, you're on fire."

"Okay, don't over do it."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, John, just focus."

He breathes lazily. "Um.. well, there's only one trail of shoe prints... He used the window?"

"Good. What else?"

"Well.. let's see.. uh.. he's alethic? ... And... He's good climber."

"Wonderful. Anything else?"

"Uh... no. That's.. pretty much all it. So..." He straightens his posture, "...how'd I do?" 

My eyes narrow. "Well... Very well. John." I unclasp my arms from behind me, and face him. "I mean, you missed a few things of importance. But overall, very well."

John scoffs in protest. He believes he's missed nothing. However, he has.. but still, he's gotten much better.

I give a tender smirk. "Don't worry." I chuckle, "I won't  replace you."

He flusters with hearty smirk - his eyes on mine. I smile. "Like you could ever manage to."

I smirk and spike my collar, before arching a sly brow. "Managing is all I do. Come! We've got a body to examine."

John Huff's. "Can you please not do that?"

I blink. "Do what?"

"That?" He points to me. "You know.. popping your collar with your cheekbones, so you'll look all cool and mysterious."

I scoff. "I don't do that."

He laughed slightly shaking his head, before following me out of the hotel room and down to the lift. We got in, and headed back down.


	6. Teaching Is Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfe

After leaving the hotel, I and John Immediately took a cab down to Bart's. Once we got there we headed inside.

As we proceed towards the morgue, I become slightly reluctant - my feet halting at the door. I'm disquieted.

"Perhaps saying sorry would be a good start? Hmm?"

My eyes narrow. "Sorry?" I exclaim "sorry for what?"

John breathes "Exactly my point."

I sigh. "Come on." We step into the room. Now inside I glance around. Ah, Molly. This should be lovely. "Oh, Molly. Good evening."

She gives a lackluster smile. As I figured. she's still upset. "Hello, John." She ignores me.

John waves, although it lacks effort. "Hi, molly." Clearly this won't be pleasant. "So the body?"

Molly points. "It's over there." She stands straighter - clearly she's uncomfortable. "It's already been prepped for inspection."

My eyes roll instinctively. "Oh, goodie." I waltz over to the body, then pull out my pocket magnifier. "John." I hand it to him. "Here. Take it."

John takes it, however he is a bit reluctant. "Oh, Okay." He pauses. "Em... what exactly am to do with this?"

I breathe sharply. "Use it, obviously." I shift on my feet, turning to face him. "Now tell me, John, have you ever examined a body?"

He flusters. "Well... Yes.. yes I have." He chuckles, then bites his lip. He's nervous. "More than intended."

"No, I mean, for more than medical purposes? Like for evidence?"

"Well.. I'd like to think I have..." 

I lean in towards him - my lips slowly birthing a cocky smirk. "But..?"

"But...I've never...really been...all to sure...about it." His cheeks darken with blush. I told him to bring his coat, but he insisted he wasn't cold. Now he's catching a cold. He clears his throat. "Hah... I'm no detective."

I scoff. "With enough practice, you can be?"

"I'm sure one Sherlock Holmes is more than enough for London. Hmm?"

I chuckle. "Apparently not." I sigh, refocusing on the objective at hand. John has to learn my techniques before I'm gone. There's no time to waste. "Now, look... The marks around his neck..." My hands jam into my pockets. "What do you make of it?"

He forks his fingers through his soft silvery blonde hair;  something he tends to do when he's nervous.

"Uh..." he blinks, then briefly glances into my eyes, before looking back to the body. "Well... ahhem... he clearly was strangled. His hyoid is fractured, which is quite common in victims of strangulation." Look at him. He's doing wonderful. "I'm guessing the killer used his hands... Which seemed to be quite large."

I sigh. "Obviously." I shift on my feet, now heading towards the morgue's exit. "John, this man was a British spy." My lips twist into a cocky smirk. "It's highly likely that he had tie ins with powerful people. People who couldn't risk being exposed... People who'd kill to keep their secrets... Secret." I pause, and glance back at him, "Or if to be exact... Pay."

"Y-you think it was a hit?"

"I don't think it. I know it."

"This is the work of a hit man."

"A hit man?" John exclaims.

I adjust my coat, then sigh. "Yes. The Golem's." John listens earnestly. "This is his work. You remember the security guard? Alex Woodbridge?" 

"Yes."

"Same exact cause of death... Strangulation. However, The Golem is not one to linger. I'm sure by now he's moved on. There's nothing more that can be done here. Molly, make sure Lestrade is alerted about this!"

"W-wait... You're telling me, he's back?"

"Pff.. he never left. Also, tell Lestrade to text me."

"So.. may I ask, where we are going?"

"Dinner."

"Dinner?"

I spin around, then frown. "Problem?" 

John nods vigorously. "Uhm.. yes!" He exclaims. "There's a murderous killer out on the streets, and we're just gonna have dinner?"

My forehead puckers. "Would you rather prefer another dreadful night of operation?"

His eyes widened. "Noooo." He forces a smile, barging past me. "Dinners perfect."

I can't help but chuckle. Does he actually hate playing board with me that much. "As I figured." I throw on my scarf, wrapping it around my neck ever so gracefully. "Chinese?"

He reaches out, and pulls open the door. "Definitely." He freezes, and blinks. "And.. aren't you forgetting something? Hmm?" He points his head towards a droopy Molly. 

I stop - my feet now as still as the floor beneath me. He wants me to apology. I'm Incredulous. "You want me to apologise?"

He nods, frowning. "Yes. And you should." My eyes narrow. "She's really upset, Sherlock. I don't like seeing her like that." He looks directly at me. "Please. For me?"

Why does he always use the puppy eyes. Urrgh!

I breathe heavily. "Fine... Molly."

She glances at me. "Y-yes?" It's more than obvious she wants an apology. Well, here goes nothing.

"M-molly." I breathe sharply, "I'm sorry."

Immediatly her face tightens, and her cheeks redden - she's blushing. Obviously. "N-no, Sherlock..." She sighs regretfully, "...I'm sorry."

I swallow. "Oh...well..." My lips birth a tender smile, "Don't be."

Suddenly her eyes widen. She's guilty. Worried. So like her - desperately trying to hide behind a smile. However, it's betraying. 

I sigh. "Well... I've got to dash. I've got somewhere to be." I walk to the door, before adjusting my coat. I breathe quietly "Happy?"

John smiles sarcastically. "Thrilled."

With those words we leave, and head outside. On my way out of Bart's I begun to think.  It's just...

Love.. its such a capricious thing. One minute were in it, the next, were not. When has love ever spared us? 

Love is only a chemical - a hideous disease that strips us of reason - an incurable, Infectious, and self consuming creature incarnated into our DNA.

Love is not an advantage. And never will be. Which is why... I choose not to feel it.


	7. Only Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfelt - heart wrenching fanfic

After leaving Bart's, I and John, went out for dinner. We ended up sitting in a Chinese restaurant - the exact restaurant I had mentioned earlier.

I figured he could use something appetizing to relax his mind. It was either this, or operation. John chose the latter.

And now he sits in front of me - eyes sieving through the menu attentively. He's rather quiet. I have to break the silence.

"So... See anything you'd like to try?"

He smiles and glances up at me, "Um.. not yet." He chuckles slightly, before returning to studying the menu. "How bout you?"

I breathe lazily - my expression now duller than the menu. "Um.. unfortunately..." I exclaim "no..!" I yank of my scarf, while giving a sly smirk. "This menu is lacking something?"

He breathes. "Obviously. Murder."

We laugh, then sigh simultaneously.

"You know me so well." Our eyes meet briefly, but quickly they stray. I owe him an apology. "Ahemm..." My cheeks warm. I'm nervous. "John... About earlier..." My lips twitch. "I-i..." These things are always a challenge for me. "You were right." I did it. It's out in the open. "I am ungrateful."

John shifts in his seat. "No-Sherlock..."

I breathe harshly. "Please... John." Once again our eyes meet, but only this time we don't look away. "I'm sorry."

He nods vaguely. "Okay..." His eyes dilate. Obvious signs of interest. He forgives me. "Now can we please eat?" He chuckles awkwardly. "I'm starving."

I smile. "As am I."

We breathe simultaneously, then John chuckles. "we keep doing that."

"You've noticed."

"More than I feel comfortable admitting. Haha."

Suddenly my eyes are drawn away by a rather shady character walking into the restaurant. My eyes narrow. "Hmm..." I hum, right before the man pulls a gun. I gasp. "Vatican Cameos!"

At the moment, time froze, and all I could see was John in front of me. The look in his eyes - the soldier - ready for battle. He steels and time rushes me. "Everyone under your tables!" He jolts out of his seat, flipping the table and pulling his pistol. "Someone's going to die!"

They don't move. John fires."Under your tables! Now!"

Everyone goes into an immediate panic. I nod. "That did the trick."

The shooter aims at me, then fires. I duck down. "Christ!"

John growls, stooping beside me. "Can you please! keep cover?"

I frown and flare my nostrils. "Really?"

John exclaims, then fires at the shooter blindly. They're quick. Rapid. Precise. Such accuracy.

"It's the hit man. I know it." John snarls. "Now maybe you'll think twice before going out for dinner while a crazy contract killer is out on the loose. Hmm?!"

One grazes my shoulder. I grunt and fall the floor. "Jesus!".

John gasps, lowering his weapon. Even now he'd risk his life to save me. It's heroic.

He kneels. "Sherlock!" He grabs me, quickly examining my shoulder. He sighs in relief. "ah god. It's just a graze." He breathes. "You have to get out of here."

"No..." I refuse. "I'm not leaving you." I hold my bleeding shoulder. "We're in this together."

"You're not invincible!"

"Neither are you!" I argue pleading, "you're just human."

He grits his teeth. "And so are you!" His grip tightens on me - his eyes now blazing wide. "Let me do this." He says, his voice sounding almost pleading. "You just get them... and yourself, to safety." His face tightens. "Okay?"

"He'll kill you!" I snarl. "He's a hit man. He's been trained to kill."

John huff's. "Then that makes two of us." He cocks his gun. "Go. Please..."

I nod, but with great reluctance. "O-okay." I catch his arm, just as he turns, causing his eyes to fall back to mine. "Don't die."

He gives me a wry smile. "I'll try." His shoulders straighten, "Now go!" He pulls away, and springs into action, firing at the armed shooter, round after round.

Meanwhile I dart from behind the table, and begin to gather up the people; some hiding, some dead, and some already escaped. 

They were lucky.

"Hurry!" I shout, quickly leading the survivors towards the back exit. Although all of me just wants to turn back around and leave them. It may seem cruel, but... John is my best friend. I can't leave him. "Keep going without me!"

I turn around, and return back the way I came - heart dangerously racing, and veins rapidly pumping with adrenaline.

I stagger, but force myself to continue. I have to know he's okay. I have to. "John!"

I become dizzy. My heart. It huts. "J-john..." My vision blurs, and then I stumble. "John ..." I croak, gradually drifting from consciousness, however I refuse to let go. He may need me. "John..."

Just then my body is lifted, and I'm suddenly back on my feet. I gasp weakly, and before I can even speak John's eyes peer into mine. "You bloody idiot." He says bitterly. "You still came back for me?"

"J-john..." I grasp his jumper weakly, my eyes blurred and heavy, "y-your okay."

John's eyes soften, and his face tightens with worry. "C'mon." He secures my arm around his shoulder, and carries me towards the exit.

On the way I become even more faint - my body seeming to slowly become weaker and heavier. I gasp. "J-john..."

He holds me closer, and continues towards the exit. "I know..." He whispers, "it's going to be okay. I've got you. Don't worry. Just listen to my voice. Okay."

I nod weakly. "O-okay." My arm instinctively attempts to tighten around him, but it's no use. I'm too weak. "I'm.. s-so weak, John."

John nods. "I know...shhh..." He shushes me quietly, now only inches away from the exit. He pauses. "Okay, here we go."

He steps out with me, and I'm Immediately blinded by light. Just then.. I black out.


	8. Breathing Isn't Boring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfelt - heart wrenching fanfic

I wake to the sight of bright white lights above me. They're almost blinding.

My hands lift instinctively, shielding my face, as my eyes blink to clear my cloudy vision.

I groan weakly, trying to make out the figure hovering above me. But unfortunately it's too hard.

My eyes grow heavier, and suddenly my arms drop beside me. I'm too weak.

However the sound of a familiar voice awakens me again, and before I know it I'm sitting up in bed. I blink harder, this time clearing my vision in a few seconds.

Just then I look up to see none other than John standing over me. His eyes wide, blazing with emotion. Fear. Adrenaline. Disappointment. Never have I seen such fright in a soldiers eyes. Never.

"It's alright. It's me." He takes my hand and gently squeezes it. I breathe faintly, fogging up the oxygen mask covering my lips. "Your alright."

My body calms, now awake and somewhat conscious, I can get some answers.

"Wh-what happened?" I croak, glancing around - my eyes vague and heavy. I'm in the hospital. I gasp faintly. "h-how long have I been here?"

John's eyes become stoic - piercing mine. He's afraid. Yet.. he's determined to hide it. "You've been here for two weeks."

My jaw  drops in shock. "T-two weeks?"

John sighs heavily, retaking his seat beside me. "Yes. Sherlock... the night after the shooting, you suffered a heart attack, and as a result the doctors placed you into a medical induced coma." His voice cracks, but he is quick to mend it. "It saved you." I hear what almost seems to be a sniffle. He's been crying...

Or has he..?

"God." He buries his face in his palms. I can't bear to see him so worried. It's unnerving... even for a someone like me. "I thought I'd lost you."

At this moment I lose sense of reality. An error has occurred - the dysfunction follows.

Mental state impaired - thoughts fading...  so distant... so foreign. I'm shaking. Emotions

It's foreign. Equivocate. The walls I've so gracefully built, are now falling. Its humiliating, yet oddly.. Beautiful.

However, the deep-seated aversion to emotion, compels me to detach quickly - abort system.

Feelings are not an option now. They're only going to make leaving harder. I must detach, before it gets more complicated.

I breathe, sucking up the pit inside my stomach. "Is..." I swallow the knot forming in my throat, afraid of what it may become. "Is the golem..."

He uncovers his face, then looks up at me. "Dead?" He nods. "Yes." He leans back, and folds his arms over his chest. "And the case is closed." He gives a mirthless laugh. "So it seems you've done it again."

I shift suddenly. "No..." my lips quiver, as I inhale deeply. "You did it. John, if you had not been there..." I swallow, "I would've died." I inhale sharply, then breathe. "Thank you."

John smiles tenderly, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Shh..." He shushes me, gently leaning me back, til I'm lying flat on my back. "Easy..." 

I gasp slightly, then groan. The pain in my chest is uncomfortable. "God."

He flinches. "I know..." He breathes. "Just... Just rest and get better. Okay."

I give a faint scoff. "Oh, now we both know that won't be possible." My head tilts, and my nose crinkles, "But I guess it never hurts to try, hmm?"

John chuckles, removing his hand from my shoulder. "Rest." He gives a lackluster smile. "I'll be here if you need me."

"Hmm..." I  hum weakly, closing my eyes to the sound of my heart monitor. It weren't long before I was fast asleep.

The next day was rather challenging. I couldn't breathe without an oxygen mask. And when I wanted to be alone, I kept getting visitors.

The only one I had intended on seeing during this period was John. No one else. But still people came to visit.

As a result I became rather irritable - lashing out at Mrs Hudson for being too over protective, or insulting Molly for standing to close.

Anything, and everything seemed to make me angry. Except when I was alone.

Well... I mean... If you call being alone, being with a good friend. Then.. yes. I was alone quite a lot.

And my brother he visited, but only when necessary. For instance, he dropped by once to discuss some legal matters with me.

It involved my situation, and how I would like to end it. However, it was initially my brother who felt a discussion would be needed. I didn't think one would be necessary. It was my decision. But because it would make my brother feel.. 'better' I agreed to have one.

So we had one. And yes. It was just as unpleasant as I thought it would be. but still we managed.

And we agreed that if I died, it would be on my own terms - that whatever I decided to do would be provided for; to ensure the utter most convenience.

And yes. It was strange - having such a life altering discussion with someone like my brother. But who else could I have went to..  

John would've been against it. Which is why we waited until John had left the room to have the discussion. It's what was best for me.. and him.

Weeks passed, and my condition only grew worse. The dyspnea, during activities steadily increased.

The chronic cough - The Edema slowing my heart - the fluid gradually building in my body - the swelling - the wheezing, 

The lack of appetite - The confusion, disorientation -Medication, beta - blockers, nitrates, diurectics, nothing seems to be taking effect anymore.

And it's only a matter of time... Before I'm gone.

The heart I've denied to acknowledge, is now failing me. And to be quite honest..

I'm afraid.


	9. In Much Simpler Terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfelt - heart wrenching fanfic

December - three days away from Christmas. And I haven't been out of bed since I left the hospital.

My breathing has slightly gotten worse, but fortunately I am still able to manage without the oxygen mask. I hate having to wear it.

However that's another story. As of now I am preparing to handle a bit of business with John. He steps into the room, and suddenly a pit forms in my stomach.

I straighten my posture. "John, sit." I wave towards the chair beside me. "There's something that I have to discuss with you."

His face tightens, yet still he sits. He clears his throat. "So...?"

I sigh, and steeple my fingers under my nose. "John.. now we both knew this time would come." My eyes narrow, and legs cross; one over the other, "I'm just hoping you are ready to come to terms with it."

His brows scowl. "Terms?" He shifts in his seat, and places a finger to his temple, while resting his elbow on the armrest. "And what're the terms here, Sherlock?"

Keep it together. There is no time for sentiment. This is strictly business. And business only.

I breathe heavily, reaching out my will to him. "The terms are simple." He swallows, and takes it.

He begins to read it. His expression hardens. I'm assuming he is not very pleased with what he is reading.

"John, it's my will." 

"Will?"

"Yes." I lower my hands to my lap. "I made a few adjustments to it, I've left you everything, except for a few items of family sentiment." "Those will go to Mycroft, the rest is yours to have."

Our eyes meet. The tension is heavy. "Sher-Sherlock, I.. I don't need any of your things."

Immediatly my eyes narrow. I'm offended. "I see." I say, voice slightly muffled by the oxygen mask helping me breathe. I inhale deeply. "Very well, then, it's no problem. I'll readjust it, and see to it that the things that are left are disposed of." I snort, and sneer. "Are perhaps you'll make sure of that."

Suddenly his eyes widen. He's noticed his mistake. "Sherlock... I-i didn't... I didn't mean it like that." He stammers, and fidgets. "Uhm.. wh-what I meant exactly... What I meant to say, Sherlock... was..." He inhales nervously, "you don't need it"

"John." I rise to my feet. "Unless you have a fresh heart in that hand of yours, I will be needing it." I adjust my robe. "more sooner than expected it seems.

"Sherlock wait..." He grabs me by the arm, and stands to face me. "I made a promise." His lips knit, and his brows furrow, "a promise to protect you." He steels. "And I'm not going just break it."

His words hit me quicker than my mind can register. My eyes wet with tears. But I hold them back. John is indeed a soldier - but a foolish one.

I gasp. "J-john..." For once I struggle to find the words to speak. "if you're implying what I 'think' ...your implying, then the answers, no."

His grip tightens on me. "Sherlock!" He snarls, "would you please stop this!" He exclaims "Please!" 

I flinch. "John.. calm down."

"Sherlock..." He pulls me close, then looks right up at me. "stop treating this situation as if it's just another one of your cases... cause it's not!" He shakes me gently, and sniffles. "This is real! And it's scary!" He sobs - his eyes practically pleading with mine. "Let me help you." His eyes weakens, "p-please."

I pull away, trying to conceal my emotions. "John, love is not an advantage." I turn my face, breath heavy and eyes wide open. "It's a curse." My lips quiver, but I bite them. "An ugly infectious virus. It blinds your insight, and clouds your judgement. Do you see?" I suddenly spin around and face him again. His hand trembles. He's afraid. "John... You're afraid. Yet love compels you to save me. Even when saving me... may ultimately kill you."

He grabs my arm again, and gives me a gentle yank. "Not as much as it killed me when you died..." His voice cracks, yet he forces himself to continue, "wh-when I thought you died."

I am triggered. "John..." I sneer, "I don't want to talk about it."

John steps up closer to me, then breathes tremulously, "Sherlock..." He whispers from the very back of his throat, "I'm at the edge of sanity." He swallows hard, and flares his nostrils. "One more push..." His grip loosens, "and I'll fall."

My skin crawls with Goosebumps. I flush."John..." I pull away again, this time with more force than before - wanting to make sure he gets the point, "We're not having this discussion."

He comes after me. "Sherlock..." He exclaims. "please..." I fight the urge to turn back. I can not let sentiment win. "If not for me, for Rosie?" I freeze. John grabs me once more, and sniffles. I'm disquieted. "She deserves better." He sobs brokenly. It's tearing at me. Jesus. "You can give her that."

I tremble. I'm losing. I can't control it. The emotion - he wants to give me his heart. I'd never even consider that as an option. Never. "John..."

He pants desperately, "Sher-sherlock, you s-saved me." His nails dig slightly dig into my flustered skin. "Let me return the favor."

I have to stop this. He's so stubborn. He won't listen. Why can't he just listen!

"J-john! I said enough!"

My eyes suddenly go dead, and I am met with the stoic eyes of the soldier. I yelled at him. And now i feel guilty.

John clears his throat. "Uhm..." He hums a dull tone, then nods. "Okay." He hands me back my will. "I'm sorry."

With that he turns, straightens his shoulders and strides out of the sitting room, leaving me to once again abhor my existence.


	10. Machines Can Feel Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfelt - heart wrenching fanfic

Night had fallen, and John had not yet returned. He left after our fight, and oddly enough... I was worried.

As a result, I was left home. Now alone, I stand, back erected, violin to my chin, and bow lifted - ready to begin.

With silhouettes now being my only audience, I play, breath heavy with a slight hitch.

The melody, I can feel it. Thick. Harsh. Blanketed. Sounds of bow against string. I'm panicking.

Gradually my melody becomes less muffled, and more piercing. My hands now moving faster than I can control. I'm angry. Furious!

"Sherlock?" I hear behind me. Suddenly I'm speechless. "Are... Are you okay?"

I turn to see John standing at my bedroom door. I attempt to straighten my posture, but unfortunately I'm too weak. "John... You've returned." 

He nods. "Yeah." His feet shuffle anxiously, "Kinda."

"Hmm..." I hum lazily, "there's something on your mind."

Suddenly arms embrace me. "I'm sorry. Okay. I'm so sorry."

John's hold tightens. I gasp. It hurts, but I endure it for his sake. "John... John..." I allow him to lean into me - my palm gently pressed against the back of his head. I rub comfortingly. "Its- it's okay."

Tears wet my shirt - yet I don't mind it. "No it's not... It's not okay. I was wrong?" His voice cracks harshly, "I should've never asked you something like that!" His fingers dig into my shirt, "It was selfish. For that, I am sorry."

It's happening again. The feelings. I can't afford to have them now. I can't.

I swallow the knot in my throat. "Um, John.. it wasn't selfish.." I release a tremulous breath, "actually it's fine."

He shakes his head. "No..." He croaks, "no Its not. You know it's not." His hold tightens more. God. Now the pain is excruciating. I want to comfort him but it hurts too much.

"John..." I croak, pulling away weakly - chest slightly heaving, "John... It hurts." He loosens his hold immediately. I breathe in releif, "I'm sorry." I feel so guilty. He needs my comfort, and I can't even give him much of that anymore. "I'm so s-sorry, J-john. It hurts too much."

His eyes swim with tears, and his hands begin to knead into my back gently - his chin buried against my shoulder. "You can't leave me."

Words can not describe the pain that struck my heart when I heard those words. Not even the pain of my heart failing could compare to it. It was indescribable.

My eyes suddenly slam shut, and tears begin to pour. I hold closer. "I-I'm not s-sure I have a choice."

His fingers softly press into my back. I shudder. Human contact. Its strange, but still I need it. "J-just don't."

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying desperately to hold back the tears forming in them, "John... Please understand. This is where we are. It is what it is."

He trembles. "Stop it. Just.. stop it. Okay." He voice cracks mercilessly. "It wasn't supposed to be like this." He croaks, holding me as if I was his only child. "I was supposed to protect you." He sobs hysterically, "I m-made a promise. An-and I br-broke it..." His voice breaks, "and I'm sorry." He break down into tears. "I failed you." Once again his grip tightens. I gasp - my heart doesn't spare me. It hurts. "I failed you, and.. and I'm sorry."

My hands embrace him, but it's a struggle. "No... You haven't." I press his head to my chest. the pain. Its all I can feel now. It has to end. It has to."J-John... I need you to do something for me."

This is going to be hard. I can already feel the knot in my stomach.

"John, tomorrow, after the Christmas party." I close my eyes again. "I need you to end this." I blindly fish into my pocket, and pull out a little bottle containing a small pill. "I'm sick of the pain, John. I just want to be rid of it."

I hear a soft gasp. "Y-you want me to..?" Just then my eyes open, and I hand the bottle to him. He refuses, pushing them back to me. "No...Just no."

I pull him closer, forcing them back into his hand again. "John, please."

He shudders. "Why me?"

The look on his face derails me. I can't help but let the tears flow.

I sniffle, then bite my lip in distress. "B-because, If I'm to d-die, I want it to be at the side of the one person I love and care about the most."

John's mouth hangs open. This is his first time actually ever seeing me cry. And his first instinct is to comfort me - his arms now cradling me, he whispers, "it's going to be alright..."

I sob harder, and my arms wrap around him tighter, even though it hurts. I don't let go. "B-but will you do it?" I croak. "Will you save me one last time, J-John?"

Now left with only the broken sobs of my best friend, I become a panting mess - my lungs straining to regulate each breath. I gasp. "John..." I pant weakly, "pl-please..."

Suddenly I feel John's head nodding, and his body beginning to tremble involuntarily. I comfort him with more care, despite how weird it feels.

Sentiment...

I'll never fully understand it...  
And maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Cause perhaps the most beautiful things, are in fact the things that we can't understand.


	11. The Privilege Of A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfelt - heart wrenching fanfic

December 25th - Christmas day - a time meant for celebration, and instead here I am, discussing how I want to die with my best friend.

Lestrade seems unsettled by the subject, but it's the way that it is, and it's better to accept it, than to keep living in denial.

As we talk John seems to become more distraught. His tremor has been acting up since yesterday.

But I ignore it, and continue on with the discussion. I can't let sentiment hinder this any longer.

"Does anyone else, besides me, know?" Lestrade asks with a tense expression.

I inhale faintly from behind the oxygen mask on my face, before exhaling calmly. "We ww-want to... to keep this... as discreet... as p-possible." I slowly lean back, and rest my head on my pillow. This position hurts. I breathe with need. "W-we've al...already agreed to not tell... Mm-Mrs Hh-Hudson."

John Immediately becomes rattled. For some reason I already know whats coming.

"And the others...?" 

As I suspected. John's always so predictable.

I look to him, but it's hard to see. "The... others?" 

He nods. "Yes. The others. Like your mother, your father, your brother..."

My brows draw together. "My... Mycroft knows, ...an...and hhe's m-more than willing... to... to assure it's... s-success."

John's lips purse, and his nostrils flare. "Yeah. Okay. But what about your mother and father?" His hand trembles, but he is quick to hide it in his lap. "How will they take it?"

My eyes fall to him. "J...just as I...I'd have th-them." I breathe weakly. "I won't hh..have them trying to... to stop me..." I mutter from behind the oxygen mask. "C-cause I just may... consider it."

John leans towards me, his elbow resting on the armrest of his chair. "Don't you think they'll at least want to say goodbye?" He asserts, side eying Lestrade, who sits in front of us nodding.

"Maybe he's right." Lestrade interjects surprisingly. I shoot him a grimacing look, and he breathes distressfully, "But it's not my place to say what is and what's not." My look softens, yet my eyes remain stoic. "This is ultimately your decision, Sherlock." Lestrade breathes, and places a hand to my shoulder, gently kneading it with reassurance. He's always been a loyal friend. "And despite how bad it may be, I wanna be there for you."

"As will I." John interjects, shifting harshly in his seat to face me. I attempt to avoid his eyes, but it's basically impossible. "But, that doesn't mean I'll agree with you when your wrong." His lips set into a grim line. "They should know. I'd want to. They will too." His eyes grab mine, "It's only right Sherlock." His face tightens, "At least let them say goodbye."

My heart twists inside me. I steel before sentiment takes control. "J-John, ...your sub...subtle attempt to...change my m-mind... is rather disappointing..." I look back to a tensed Lestrade. Clearly he's just as worried as John, but is trying not to show it. "They'll... They'll know wh-when it's done."

"My God." He mumbles bitterly. "I think I'm gonna need a drink."

I assume he wants me to back out too. But unfortunately, I am not able to.

I adjust my oxygen mask onto my face, shifting in my bed a bit. "L-Lestrade...we've come to you because you... you're the only per-person ww-we felt w-we could trust..."

Lestrade sighs. "I know. I'll do what I can."

"N-no." I groan, forcing myself to sit up bed and lean against the headboard. "I...I want to ensure J-John is not held accountable... for any...anything that takes place on that night. I...I don't want him to... to be put at risk."

John scoffs. "Are you serious?" "I've thrown myself in front of bombs for you."

I manage to exclaim. "John!" My lungs wheeze slightly, but still I continue, "I will not... h-have your...your freedom p-put at stake."

"Well... in these types of cases there is hardly ever any investigations. Most would simply close it as a suicide."

I close my eyes, exhausted from the morphine dosage John gave me not to long ago. "G-good." I manage to open my eyes a little, just enough to see John's eyes glaring dead at me. I groan tiredly. "As long as John... is safe." I nod off, but quickly come back to. "Uhm... Do excuse mm-me." I clear my throat weakly, "er... the mm-medicine.. makes mm-me dr-drowsy."

Lestrade spends the next two hours highlighting a few topics; such as legal affairs, my will, and the situation.

Meanwhile me and John listened and interjected when it seemed most appropriate.

Before we knew it the evening had come, and the sun had just begun to set. Lestrade gasps at the sight, realizing how long we had sat talking.

John on the other hand doesn't seem to surprised. I'm guessing he expected the discussion to take a while.

As of now sleep begins to creep over me, gradually drawing me away into unconsciousness. I attempt to fight it... But it's no use. I'm tired.

Now closing my eyes I begin to wonder... do I really want to give up the fight? I mean... If I take the pill, it won't be much of a struggle. It'll be too easy.

This may seem crazy, but I want to die knowing I wanted to. I want to be aware til the end of it. I want to feel something.

Even if it's pain. I want to feel it. I want to feel it all.


	12. The Last Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfelt - heart wrenching fanfic

Christmas - one of my least favorite holidays. But as of lately it's become all I can think about. 

I hadn't planned on making it any further than my last birthday, but miraculously here I am.

I suppose the universe rather enjoys my suffering. Giving me more time...

More time to care and to feel. I'm left with less time to complain - forced to finding meaning - to be happy.

It gives me more time to see what I'll be missing... And who'll be missing me.

Sometimes I hate it. I hate how time reminds me - how death binds me into it's mercilessly hold - it's teeth sharper than its sickle.

Every second is another second I lose. I'm dying. And eventually I'll be lying in a coffin.. hmm.. 

perhaps I should embrace it..?

Most fear death - I admire it. It's power. It's strength. Yes. It ruins your life, but not as much as worry does.

Yes. It's dreadful - unlike anything I have ever had the misfortune of experiencing.

But I think the worst part of it all, is that John has no other choice but to experience it with me.

However, the universe has granted me the privilege of yet another Christmas. This time I'll cherish. 

And I'm more than sure John will too - he's practically invited everybody. And I do mean everybody. Even my brother.

I know. But John was determined to make my Christmas as festive as possible. Although I wasn't upset, cause I didn't believe he'd show up.

But to my surprise he did. I didn't expect him to, ...cause he utterly abhors holidays.

Especially Christmas - he didn't show up last Christmas, but this Christmas, he suddenly felt the need to drop by.

I'm guessing he's feeling the pressure too. But John even more.

He refuses to discuss anything involving my death, and hates for me to even bring it up. Then again, he's never really liked to talk about it.

During the gift exchange Molly couldn't help but cry; perhaps seeing me dependant upon a machine to breathe, wasn't something she wanted to see. Though despite all of this, she did her best to hold herself together.

Then further into the party Lestrade and Molly announced they were secretly seeing each other, which was more than obvious, and that they were also getting engaged.

The smile on there faces. It was nice to see the two happy. Molly deserved it. She always did. But unfortunately... It took me becoming sick to finally see that.

Anderson showed up late, but not alone. He carried Sergeant Donavon along, and well..

I hated it. I even told Anderson to take his pet else were.. but the others felt it wasn't right to make Anderson's 'friend' stand outside.

So John let her in, against my will, and we resumed the party. I was showered with gift after gift- cards and hugs and kisses, and so much was happening I could barely think.

For god sakes! I was overwhelmed, but luckily Rosie was there to steal away some of the attention.

Soon everyone settled down and I and my brother decided it would be nice to have a little music.

Initially I had planned to play a new Christmas CD that John had purposely bought for the occasion. But everyone kept insisting I play violin.

And then my brother joined in, taking a seat at the piano. He had practiced since he was a kid. He was good. Very good. Oh, did I mention he was a show off. Well he is.

He had to let everyone know he could play an instrument too. Just like when we were kids, he'd always have to prove he was the smart one. Hmpf... Brothers.

So with that being said, we begun to play a traditional Christmas melody.

It was warming and merry. Mrs Hudson started crying, and with her everyone else.

Meanwhile John and Lestrade song joyously to the music. I never knew a soldier could sing so wonderfully. And Lestrade wasn't too bad either.

Before we knew it we had played ten Christmas songs; which I absolutely dreaded.

I've always found Christmas music to be rather cloying. But everyone felt it would evoke the true spirit of Christmas.

Now met with stares, and silence, my mind urges me to play something else; this time something I've composed.

And before I know my bow is lifted to the strings, and gently it begins to move against them.

My eyes slam close - mind totally submerged in the moment. It's like I'm drowning.

Each note rushes me with memories. They're so vivid. Its almost like I'm traveling through the past.

It's so quick. It's like a movie - black and white. No color.

It plays faster and faster, and all I can see is him - John Watson.

I see him standing in the morgue beside me, spurting out suggestions, I see him shouting from the top of his lungs, because he's stumbled upon another one of my severed heads, and then, just as clear as day, I see him standing at my grave, crying and pleading for one last miracle.

And suddenly everything goes silent, and my eyes open to see blurred faces looking at me.

I blink and gasp, turning my back to them. The tear trickling down my cheek was enough to tell me I was crying.. in front of everybody.

I swallow, then flush completely red in humiliation. The machine crying. "M-my apologies every... everyone." I sniffle, and breathe in heavily, fogging up the the oxygen mask on my face. "I'm... I'm not ff-feeling all too well."

Everyone seems to understand. However they still can't help but stare.

I snort resentfully, and totter away, dragging my oxygen tank behind me. I'm in pain. And I'm embarrassed. I had no control over what just happened.

I stagger into my bedroom, and slam the door, before locking it and sagging against it heavily.

I'm so foolish, letting emotions get the best of me. I have to keep fighting. I have to... before it's too late. I can't begin to care. I can't. Or else I won't be able to go through with what I have tonight. And that will be bad.


	13. A Little Unsteady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years has passed, Sherlock has return to 221B, he's made amends with his best friend, he's even started up his work again, but in the dark there lies a secret; his heart is failing and it's too weak to undergo any type of surgery. With no other treatment available, Sherlock is forced to accept his fate, and brave through it by the hand of his only friend, John Watson. Together they find hope in hopelessness, and light in the darkness, in this heartfelt - heart wrenching fanfic

As I sat in my room, I listened, and waited - eyes now closed and violin in hand - playing - wandering the vast halls of my mind palace. 

In here everything is clear - precise. Crisp - a vacation from the chaos

-the madness.

"Sherlock?" A familiar voice says, shifting my focus to the door. It's him - John. Knew he'd be coming. "can I come in?"

My lips release a long sigh. "it's locked-"

"I know." John steps in, flashing a key - he's copied mine. What a unexpected surprise - he smiles, tenderly, and still, so characteristically, I roll my eyes. "got a copy."

"Is there any point in locking my door anymore?"

A mirthless chuckle gushes from his lips. "Depends." He sits beside me, in the chair he usually occupies when keeping me company - elbows on his knees, and chin propped, heavily, on his knuckles - he flusters. "Unless you're looking to lock out your doctor?"

"I am fairly sure you are my dope peddler." I smirk, smugly, yet it can not hide the uncertainty in my grey-stoic eyes. "How was the party?"

John scoffs derisively. "Sufferable."

I smirk with a deadpan expression. "Obviously."

Our eyes meet and suddenly we burst out into a bitter chuckle. We breathe, and sigh simultaneously. John is quick to notice, and give a comment.

"We keep doing that."

I snicker, but faintly - cheeks slightly warmer than normal - I breathe, "yes. It's becoming a rather common occurrence, don't you think?"

John's cheeks redden, and his eyes gaze endlessly into mine - deep down I can see the worry - the fear - all of it. I know he's afraid, which is why I must distract him. "John..."

His eyes blink, vaguely, "yes?"

"Let's do something."

"Something?"

"Yes. You and me."

He snorts, goofily. "Like what?"

I reach under my sheets, pulling out Cluedo - which just so happens to be one of his least favorite games - I grin, weakly, with a mischievous expression, knowing he'll refuse, "Cluedo?"

John is instantly repelled, "No!"

I smile, slyly. "It's either this, or crap telly."

He sighs, with a amused expression. "For some reason I feel you wanted me to say no."

We smile at each other, reading between the lines, then before we know it we're crashing out on the couch, in the warm den, near the crackling fireplace, watching telly, and chuckling like idiots.

Gracelessy, stuffing our faces with white, butterless, popcorn, and making an absolute mess of ourselves and the couch - Mrs Hudson will have mess to clean up tomorrow.

Time passed so fast - one moment we were eating and laughing, quietly, trying not to wake little Rosie, and, the next moment, we were covered in popcorn, huddled up, and stuffed and passed out on the den's couch - sleeping to the not so calming sounds of the telly running near us.

Then a sudden ache hits me - right in the kidney's - it's excruciating - my chest heaves and I snap awake to find I've soiled the couch quite copiously.

A red, stark, streak of humiliation stains my cheeks - I've wet myself. This isn't the first time - but it's the first time I've done it with someone else in the room. I can only imagine what John will- 

Before I can finish the thought, John grabs me, gently, carefully, pulling me into his warm embrace.

I gasp in slight panic, reluctant but desperate, sinking into his hold despite how humiliated I am - I'm in pain and I need him.

John inhales deeply, fishing into his pocket to retrieve a little bottle of morphine - he uncaps it and brings it, fretfully, to my lips, still holding me, almost as if he's afraid to let go.

It's always going to be like this - if I don't end it, I'll forever be a subject to the pain - to fear. I'm too worn to keep going.

With trembling lips I drink from the bottle - I shut my eyes, allowing the morphine to numb the pain. Then I curl up closer to the soldier - I'm fairly surprised that he returns the affection and buries his chin on my shoulder. 

Then it goes quiet.

It's rather foreign to me. Strange. Byzantine - yet it comforts me, so I allow him to hold me tighter.

And then we breathe simitanously, not moving, just holding. Waiting - I suppose for a word to break the piercing silence.

But nothing - silence lingers, with all to be heard is the faint wheezing of my fragile lungs, and the wailing cries of the blizzard outside.

As I listen, a soft, appreciative sigh parts his lips as I lean deeper into him - ear now planted against his chest, I listen.

His heart - its like a wild horse- galloping through the wilderness, bucking at the walls of his chest, sorely - he's afraid.

Probably even angry. I don't know - he didn't freakout about it, and even now he's ignoring the scent of urine that's soaked into the couch and my pajamas.

I flush even redder, my cold pale skin warming rapidly at the closeness of the soldier - I'm not use to such acts of affection.

So I simply keep quiet and continue to listen to his heartbeat, as it gradually slows and returns to normal.

We hold for a little while longer, before John finally breaks the silence to whisper, "Don't be embarrassed, Sherlock, I've done it before too."

Right then my eyes fling open, and a soft, yet wry, smile spreads across my face - a dust of pink settling over my rigid cheeks. "Really?" I say in the smallest voice, eyes staring off into the telly screen vaguely.

He nods gently. "Yes. Every night..." He sighs gratefully, "before I met you."

I scoff, sheepishly. "No need to exaggerate the truth."

He chuckles, quietly. "Well...almost everynight." He pulls away to look down at me. I avoid his eyes. "Now...to get you cleaned up."

I nod, and inhale weakly, cherishing such intimacy. It's quite alarming how much I've been starving for physical contact.

The physical panacea for loneliness - it cures the pain... Only for a moment. Then it's gone - stolen - by this unbiquitous being called "time"

It's abstruse. Cryptic - yet beautiful - it reminds us that we're just human.

That we are not immortal - that people come and people go, and that we should never take life for granted. Ever...


	14. Chapter 14: A Soldier's Endurance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Know it's been a while but I've been really, reeeaaally busy; which by the way, I apologize for- I've just finished this amazing piece to my amazing story, and I just hope you all like it. I worked really hard on It. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

After washing up, which John assisted me with, I slipped into my comfiest pajamas, took another swig of morphine, and then headed to my bed.

Lying down was a challenge - then again most things that took me no effort, now, takes everything -  even with John's help, it's a obstacle.

It hurts - the pain is excruciating - sleeping is dreadful - eating makes me sick - right now I'm nauseous. It doesn't feel quite pleasant. But at least I didn't throw up again.

And John... He's no better. I heard him crying twice, both on different occasions, and each time more of me died.

I can't keep this going - having him... suffering. Watching me die slowly. Powerless and broken - that's John right now.

Or is it me? I'm not sure. Actually I'm not sure about anything anymore. It's like I'm just existing - everything is if and how now... nothing's will or is.  This isn't living. This is dying. And I don't like it.

-The anomaly of death.

The thought of taking that final breath - of letting go, and becoming nothing more than lifeless bone and tissue.

To feel the cold, sharp, blades of death against my skin, and the hot, taut, burn of air gradually forsaken my body.

I don't want to feel it - to know that it is closer than I've cared to acknowledge, to know that tomorrow I will die.

And all of the years I've spent trying to mask the fear - now... I am forced to face reality, the reality of my condition - its realer than anything I've ever experienced.

And yet... I still can't accept it.

"Still awake?" I hear a familiar voice ask. John. He can't help but worry about me. "You hate to rest, don't you?"

"Hmm.. " I smirk, but remain lying down. "Resting's boring, John." I shoot him a mirthless smile. "I'm not dead yet."

John's face tightens. "You're right." he says with a deadpan expression, "You're not dead yet." He steps in and shuts the door. I can already sense what's coming - the tension - the impending climax. "Sherlock..."

Here it comes.

"I... Tomorrow... I'm not sure if... I'm not sure if I can go through with this."

My eyes suddenly open. "You mean exactly?" I play dumb, only to by time to actually figure out how I am going to convince him that he can.

"Sherlock..." he pauses, his voice seemingly deeper than usual, "this - tomorrow... It can't happen." his voice breaks. And I quiver. "it can't. It just... You just can't." his breath becomes heavier, almost as if he is about to cry, yet I don't look to him - I can't bring myself to. I just can't.

"John, n-now is not the time for th-this. "

"Oh, and I'm guessing tomorrow will be?! Hmm?"

My heart skips a beat, and I grab my chest, breathing in and out weakly. The situation - its too much. "J-John...please."

"No, Sh-Sherlock, you're going to listen to me."

Ah...The human error - heart against reason. I scoff with bitterness. "why? I'm dying. Its not like I can change that." 

John snorts. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean you have to give up so bloody damn quickly either."

"Is that what you see it as, 'giving up'?"

"No. No Sherlock, I see it as my best friend, who I want to live, trying to kill himself."

"Want to know what I see, john?" My eyes suddenly shut - there's a pain in my chest, but I ignore it.

"I see my life being stolen - I see giving in - I see the pain, the drugs - your suffering... Taking my life will spare you the pain of watching this disease drain it from me."

John doesn't look at me - obviously he's angry. He feels I'm being selfish. Cause he doesn't understand.

"John, all that concerns me is how to make this less painful...for you."

And suddenly I'm looking right at him, but he won't look up to me. Now he's the one avoiding eye contact.

"John, there is no point in us both suffering."

John exclaims. "No point!" He shouts, "for God sakes, Sherlock! Will you listen to yourself!"

"I'm sorry."

"I want to suffer this with you!" 

John wants to suffer with me? I'm incredulous. "Why?" I ask with the frailest voice ever, "Why... would you want to?"

"Because I love you." John confesses, and immediately it goes silent. He means? "Always have. It just surprises me that I have to actually say it. Thought I made it obvious enough two years ago?!" His hands go up, "are was my grieving not enough?"

"You...love me?" I repeat - confused. No one had ever 'actually' said those words to me before- well in such context. "Y-you love me?" I say again, this time a bit louder- I'm even more confused.

John sighs, heavily. "Yes. I love you, you idiot." He sits beside me, in a chair, next to my bed. I fluster red, and turn to face him. His hand takes mine. And I'm speechless. "Suffering with you is a privilege, Sherlock, I'm not ready to give up that up just yet."

Words fail me- my lips part but nothing comes. I swallow. "J-John... When this is over..." I breathe, chest rising slowly, then falling, "I want you to take over for me."

John scoffs with mirthless smirk. "What do you mean, take over for you, Sherlock?"

I sigh weakly "I mean, my work- I want you to take my place." John seems against it, but I continue anyway, "You're the only one that's truly observed my techniques- you know me more than anyone else, John."

He snorts, and gives me a broken smile. "That's just the point, isn't it?" He sniffs, and squeezes my hand, "I know you... But I can never replace you."

To be continued...


	15. Chapter 15: The Calm before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a real stretch- had to spend countless of hours editing, and shaping the piece to fit with the rest of the story. I just hope I did a okay job. I tried at least. Any feedback would be very, very appreciated.
> 
> Thank you! :)

The night fled like a silent whisper- John slept beside me, and I felt safe. For the time being. Then morning came.

The firey golden sun now seeping through the diamond-white translucent curtains curtaining my bedroom window-

I awake to find my flatmate curled up beside me- he seems so at peace. Such a shame he will have to wake up to this.

This...

This nightmare.

It's like a storm- never ending, and unstoppable- A never ending loop of misery, tears, and agony.

A prison, but also a vast ocean of pain, and war- a battle for survival- that has somehow led me here.

And I'm ready... Ready to end this perilous journey. and tonight I will.

If I'm lucky-

"Morning." I breathe weakly into the oxygen mask- a lackluster smile gently tugging at the corners of my lips, as I run a soft hand over the sleeping soldier's slowly, "John..."

"Morning.", the soldier groans, half asleep beside me. I scoot closer, and suddenly his eyes open. I gulp. Heavens they're so beautiful-

I've never quite seen anything quite like them- molten blue, like sapphire oceans glowing underneath a golden-sunrise.

I suppose being greeted with those eyes every morning wouldn't be so horrible.

Definitely wouldn't be boring.

"You're up early." That smile. It's contagious.

I sigh, softly, leaning back against the bed's headboard, adjusting the Venturi mask on my face- "Am I?" a gentle smile takes my lips; this time it's genuine. "Hadn't noticed."

John pretends to be surprised, turning up a brow, and gasping, "-That's shocking." he smirks, artlessly. "You notice everything."

I tease, "Do I?" Of course I do.

He breathes, timidly, "More than necessary."

I huff, dramatically. "Oh, John, paying attention is always necessary."

John cocks his head, frowning falsely. "Since when?"

I smile weakly. "Since always."

We chuckle, simultaneously, before finally going quiet. This seems too good to be true-

Because it is. You're dying- stop falling in love!

But I can't help it.

I love him.

Perhaps it's time I tell him.

"John...", I begin, only to find I can't quite get the words out- oh God!- I can't say it. I can't. "I-I..." I am defeated. "I appreciate this..."

You bloody fool! Now you've lost the opportunity- the moment was just right, and you go and ruin it. So much for being clever.

He deserved to hear you say it. He loves you- my mind internally scolds me-

I shudder. The pressure is too much. 

I'm conflicted- but I know should say it. I'm going to say.

I open my mouth to speak, ready to break the shrilling silence, when John suddenly gushes, "I love you."

My heart freezes- no sound. No words to express what I am feeling. John's caught me off guard with those words.

Now I feel even more obligated to say it.

But I can't seem to. So I simply nod. The expression that hits his face is like an overcast on a rainy day; utter disappointment.

He becomes diffident- his once sunny-blue eyes, now darkened with insecurity. "Oh, sorry. Too soon?"

Guilt rushes me, and quickly I respond saying, "no. Its fine. Its...good."

John feigns a smile, determined to convince me all is well when it's clearly not.

He just told me he loves me, and all I could say was 'it' was 'good'

I have to apologize. Now. "John," I breath in deeply, yet weakly, "I'm sorry."

John immediately responds, shaking his head, and saying, "no its fine. really." he looks directly into my eyes-blue, deep orbs boring into my mine. I am arrested. "it's... alright."

Nonsense. I have to say it. "No. I should say it." God. I am not good with this. "I mean, I want to...say it."

"No." He resists, but I persist. "No I really should." He exclaims, finally causing me to go quiet, "No, you shouldn't-" his face saddens- I've really done it this time. "You don't have to say those words back to me just because you think you have to-"

I can't listen to this- I know I don't have to! I want to! 

I huff, and roll my eyes so hard it's a surprise they didn't detach from their sockets. "I know." "I was going to say it because...I love you."

John's face instantly goes red, his cheeks warming like blossoming flowers in the carnelian yellow sun. He breathes. "Oh..." He chuckles with a tense smile- "Okay..." we smile together. It's sort of uncomfortable, but the feelings, from what I deduce, are mutual. "I love you too."

As John, and I lie side by side, our skin closer than ever- warmth, and comfort between us- the sudden urge to lean forward, and kiss him possesses me.

I am overwhelmed with emotion-

And before I know it my lips are pressed against his- warm, wet, and puckered. Our eyes open slowly, having closed instinctively with the locking of our lips.

"Sher-Sherlock?" his lips dry at the sudden brush of mine- I had no time to register what I had just tried to do- the urge was simply too bloody compelling- "what're you doing?"

"Oh God, I-I'm sorry." I apologise without even being asked to- something I've learned to do while living with the kind-hearted soldier- "I'm sorry, John, for-"

John interrupts me, his hands ceasing my cold, but rapidly warming cheeks- short rough fingers smoothing over soft, pale pasty skin, as our bodies meet in a new found passion- 

I shudder, then breathe- my brain refuses to process this extraordinary experience. 

I am wordless.

But even more breathless-

I pant for air, breath catching in my constricting throat- it sort of hurts. I groan in distress, and bury my face in the shorter man's chest. It doesn't help much.

The pain is only getting worse. I panic. "J-John, something's wrong." I groan louder, voice hoarse, and weak- "H- h- Hhh..."

"Sherlock?" John pants in fear, quickly adjusting the venturi mask back onto my pale-blue face. Though it does little to ease the pain. "Oh God, Sherlock, you can't do that!" He scolds. "You can't just remove your oxygen mask like that, Sherlock."

I whimper, heart beating so hard I can hear it. His grip tightens, and I whine in response. "Oh God." Tears fill my eyes, as the pain continues to intensefy. "I need...morphine-" a sob rips from my throat- I scream, "now, John..!" I can't bear to breathe- hurts too much- "AHhuuh!"

John exclaims, "God, Sherlock!", and holds me closer. I sob, harder. Miserable. Small. Afraid. "J-John, it-it hurts, s-so much- Ahh!"

Quickly, he administers some morphine to me. I drink greedily, only stopping when John pulls the bottle away.

I groan faintly, finally free of the pain for the time being- I cry, not in pain, but relief; the pain I felt a few seconds ago was worse than anything I have ever physically felt before.

It was practically unbearable.

And if it wasn't for John I don't know where I'd be right now. Don't think I'd be conscious.

He continues to hold me, his embrace becoming less firm, and more gentle. "shhh..." His fingers run soothing through my raven-brown curls, and I whimper in appreciation- "John?"

"Shh...I've got you, don't worry."

I shiver, head leaning into the soldier's soothing touch. "Ugh...th-thank you, John." A yawn parts my lips- mouth open wide. I sigh. "I'm tired."

He carefully unwraps his arms from round me- I shiver at the loss of body heat, that feels more like deprival, than anything else. 

But I do not protest. I simply groan, and turn as his soft sheet-thin lips peck the puckering skin of my forhead. 

Again, I shiver; but not because I'm cold- "Then rest. I'll go get some tea started."

He is quick to leave the room- I breathe in weakly, and listen to the familiar silence-

Until I hear faint whimpers coming from the kitchen; they are John's- he's crying. I can feel my heart twist. Why is he hiding- I've seen him cry before: what's different now?

Is it because of the kiss?

I knew I'd ruin everything- the thought of being wanted clouded my judgement- John isn't in love with me.

Then again...  
... who would be?

I'm dying...

To be continued...


End file.
